Dangerous to Know (10 page)

“Oh … hell yeah.”

His hips jerked, driving more of his cock between her lips. She took it, moving her head and toying with the sensitive spot on the underside of the head with her tongue. She maintained her grip on the length outside her mouth, working her hand along it. His breathing became rough as his hips drove back and forth. She reached the base of his dick and rotated her wrist to cup his balls.

“Shit!”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled out of her mouth. Frustration speared through her.

“Let go of my hair, Mercer. I'm calling the shots right now.” She glared up at him, unimpressed with the savage glow in his eyes. But it sent a ripple of need through her clit, so acute she gasped.

“I never promised you fair play, baby,” he warned her.

Her hair was free in a second, but Mercer didn't give her the chance to renew her position. He hooked his hands beneath her arms and lifted her off her knees.

“I only promised I could handle you.”

He cupped the sides of her face again, tilting his head so their mouths would fit together perfectly. His kiss was hard, almost vicious, but it fed the need boiling inside her. He kissed her for a long moment, numbing her brain and leaving her thoughts nothing but a vapor. She was twisting against him, clawing at his shirt as she tried to pull him closer. She was desperate for him, exactly the thing she'd feared, and yet now she purred, enjoying the raging sensation. He lifted his mouth away and grasped her hips. The hold sent a jolt of need through her pelvis.

He lifted her off her feet and deposited her on the countertop.

“Damned if I didn't want to handle you the moment I stepped up to you outside that bar.” He grabbed the waistband of her lightweight jersey pants and tugged them over the curve of her hips. She tightened her grasp on his shoulder while he stripped the garment off her. “When you turned me down, I thought about pushing you back into that corner outside the bar and kissing you until you melted. Spreading your thighs and shoving my hand into your pants to rub your clit until you begged me to satisfy you.”

“I should throw you out for a comment like that,” she said, but she so didn't mean it.

He cupped each knee, watching her with glittering eyes. “Why? Because it isn't candy-coated?” A dry laugh followed as he massaged each of her thighs. “What's between us isn't soft, baby. It's hot and combustible, and you don't want me to beg you for a ride between your thighs.”

He drew his fingers down her thighs, setting off a hunger that made her heart accelerate. But he took a moment to dig into one pocket and pull out a condom. Normally, the delay of dealing with safe sex was a turn-off. Not with Mercer. The action promising her the satisfaction she craved.

“Part of you loves the fact that I push you.” He cupped her knees again and spread her legs while holding her gaze. “Just as I love every second of you trying to reduce me to a quivering idiot.”

She felt her lips lifting into a smile of satisfaction. Reaching out, she cupped his balls once more while he sheathed his cock. “I'll get you next time, Mercer, that's a promise.”

“I guess now's a good time to tell you how controlling I can be when it comes to making sure my lover is as satisfied as I am.” He leaned closer but instead of using the hard head of his cock, he teased her with the tips of his fingers, gliding them between the slick folds of her sex until he settled them over her clit. Pleasure spiked through her as hard as a spear.

“Stop toying with me, Mercer,” she warned.

One eyebrow rose and his fingers remained exactly where they were, gently circling her clit. It sent her to the edge of climax but denied her enough pressure to actually tumble into the vortex.

“Weren't you just telling me how much it bugged you, not knowing anything about me?”

She slapped his shoulders. “That doesn't mean I want to talk now.”

He pressed a little harder on her clit, sending a bolt of need up her passage so hard, she arched backward with it. She would have smacked her head on the cabinet if he hadn't caught her nape with one sure hand.

“I couldn't agree more, baby.”

She grabbed his shoulders, feeling a wildness surging along her limbs. The first touch of his cock sent past her lips a primitive sound she'd never made before.

But it felt perfect.

“I love the way we communicate.” His voice was harsh, almost unintelligible. But he gripped her hips and sent his dick tunneling inside her.

“And I love the feel of your pussy clasping my cock.”

Her eyelids were heavy, and all she wanted to do was sink into the feeling of being stretched by his cock. But she forced herself to look into his eyes, and the hunger blazing there was worth the effort. It mirrored her own, adding more fuel to the inferno.

“Faster,” she demanded, her thighs tightening around his lean hips. “I thought you claimed to be a man of action.”

A soft slap landed on the top half of her bottom cheek. “Want to test my worth? I can arrange that, baby.”

He felt larger than before. The walls of her passage were stinging but not enough to detract from the insane rush of delight each thrust gave her. She really was a bitch; she could feel the animal inside her clawing and biting its way past civilized behavior. She didn't want to be his equal, she wanted to be fucked. But more than that, she wanted to match his pace, and she moved her hips in time with his, lifting to take each forward thrust. Pleasure tightened in her belly, twisting and contorting until she jerked forward, grinding against Mercer while her climax tore away every last shred of awareness. There was only the blinding, white-hot flash of enjoyment so intense, every muscle strained toward it.

Mercer growled, low, deep, and savage. It suited the moment and the way he gripped her hips while driving his cock as deep as possible. A second ripple of pleasure jolted her when his climax produced a scathing outburst of profanity. Her eyes flew open, a moan escaping her lips. But speech was beyond her grasp because she'd forgotten to breathe. She drew in deep gulps of air to fend off the waves of dizziness threatening to drag her down into the pool of satisfaction her climax left behind.

“Christ … that was intense…”

Mercer flattened one hand on the countertop, his body shaking like hers was. But he kept a solid arm around her, holding her securely while they both recovered.

“My neighbors are going to call the cops,” she groused when she regained enough strength to open her eyes and discovered she could see through the kitchen window. With only a half curtain, privacy wasn't really ensured.

Mercer smirked at her. “I guess I don't need to apologize for keeping my pants on. Let them wonder if we're really doing what it looks like we're doing.”

Zoe groaned and pushed him away. “Easy for you to say, you don't have to deal with them at homeowners' meetings. Some of them are mighty free with their opinions.”

He closed his fly before bending down and retrieving her pants.

“Considering how impulsive we are, maybe a full curtain is in order.”

He was teasing her, his voice rich and edged with amusement while he nuzzled her neck.

Zoe blushed because her underwear was still lying on the tile. But she threaded her feet into her pants while Mercer stole her breath with a tiny bite. He lifted her hips so she could finish pulling her pants up but he didn't back off to allow her off the counter. “Is that some kind of promise that I'll see you again? Because your performance record isn't very exemplary to date.”

“If that window had been open, your neighbors would be able to testify as to just how good my performance record is—”

The kitchen window shattered with a pop. A second later she was facedown on the floor, Mercer's weight heavy on her back as he pressed her down.

“Who's shooting, Zoe?”

His tone had gone razor-sharp and as cold as a glacier. His knee was in the center of her back and his hand on the back of her neck.

“What the hell are you talking about? Some kid likely threw a rock because he saw us.” She kept her voice even because newly returned servicemen were often a bit jumpy. “It wasn't a gunshot.”

She expected him to ease up; instead, he ground his knee into her back. Pain shot down her spine and she began to struggle. Post-traumatic stress disorder was no laughing matter. She had to get his mind back in the present, fast.

“Get off me. This isn't … wherever you just got back from.” She pushed against the floor but he remained unmovable. “My neighbors don't have guns, Mercer.”

But he did.

She froze when a turn of her head brought her nose-to-muzzle with a handgun. The thing was coal black and wrapped securely in Mercer's hand.

“Where in the hell did you have that?” she demanded.

“What? Did you think I was going to be an easy kill?” He pressed the muzzle of that weapon against her skull with a confidence that chilled her. “Don't move.”

Shock held her still, the muzzle of the gun too real to dismiss. In a detached, this-can't-really-be-happening way she was slightly curious, having watched scenes like this on television, but the cold tile beneath her cheek made her shiver because it confirmed that no commercial break was going to show up to save her.

Mercer flipped open a cell phone. “My cover's blown. Someone just took a shot at me through the kitchen window.”

“What do you mean your cover?” she demanded.

Another pop sounded, followed by several more. The window past the cabinets shattered in a wall of falling glass.

“Still want to tell me no one's shooting at me?” Mercer accused.

The sounds were echoing in her ears while she stared dumbfounded at the broken glass coating her kitchen title. It fell from the countertop in little, tinkling waterfalls while the horrible reality sank in.

“They're shooting at both of us.”

Someone kicked in her front door but Mercer wasn't waiting for their assistance. He yanked her up and sent her rolling through the kitchen doorway. He came up on one knee, his gun level, and fired off three rounds without hesitating.

He looked like a complete stranger.

Harley was screaming. Whoever had come through the door ran past him and on to the kitchen. There was suddenly a second man crouching on her tile and firing a gun. She scooted away, full of disbelief. She banged her knees on the hard floor but it wasn't enough to keep her from getting to her feet and running out the opposite door of the kitchen. Her thoughts were jumbled, racing too fast to make sense of, but Harley was still screaming so she went to his cage and opened the door.

The parrot jumped at her, digging his talons into the soft jersey of her top.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

Mercer grabbed her biceps and jerked her around to face him.

“Someplace where there isn't gunfire,” she snarled. His grip was painful and the confidence with which he held the handgun scared the crap out of her. “Let go, you're hurting me.”

“Too bad.”

His tone was glacier-cold once more. He jerked her around and Harley gave a squawk of displeasure.

“Get rid of the bird.”

“Like hell. I'm not telling my dad I left his bird behind in a firefight.”

She intended to say something else but the sight of Mercer's shoulder silenced her. Bright-red blood was dripping unchecked down his arm. A groove was cut through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and the remaining sleeve was saturated.

“You're hit.” Her voice was a shocked whisper.

He propelled her toward the garage. “Congrats, but it will take a better shot than that to put me down. We're clearing out.”

His last statement was for the other man who had kicked in the front door. He was every bit as powerfully built and his eyes had the same cold look in them when he glanced at her.

“Why did you say ‘congrats'?”

She was already in the garage when she managed to get the question past her lips. Everything was happening too fast. It didn't seem real, couldn't be, not when she was inside her own home. All around her were the trappings of her life, but then she caught the scent of fresh blood and looked at Mercer's shoulder. The wound slapped her with just how real it was. Someone had tried to kill him in her kitchen, and he believed she was in on it.

“I had nothing to do with—”

“Get in. We'll all be dead in another few minutes if we stay here.” He shoved her toward the van, which was still loaded with the parrot party stage. His friend had yanked the sliding door open and she tumbled through it while trying to control Harley. The parrot extended his wings and fluttered with outrage. Zoe rolled over, trying to maintain her grip on his body, and heard the door slam.

“Make it good, Greer. They've had time to reposition,” Mercer growled to his companion.

“Not that much time, we might make it.”

The
might
in his response chilled her blood.

Greer punched the accelerator the moment the garage door was high enough. The van swayed dangerously, the tires skidding when he took the turn into the street too fast. The crazy, drunken pitching of the vehicle didn't faze him any. He used his muscular arms to yank the steering wheel around as the engine roared from how hard he pushed on the accelerator.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded as she was flung against the portable cage, Harley hanging on to her for dear life. His talons were digging into her skin, drawing blood. His beak was sunk into the center of her bra.

“Trying not to get killed by your partners.”

Zoe got a look at Mercer around Harley and his expression was hard. The gun was tucked into the front of his waistband, low enough to conceal it from anyone driving past them. Greer had eased off the frantic pace and settled into the flow of traffic.

Fear slammed into her, intense enough to nauseate her. It sent her looking around the van, seeking escape.